Matzah
by Not Days but Knights
Summary: House comes across Wilson as he’s preparing himself a Passover snack, launching the duo into a conversation concerning not only matzah, but Wilson’s equally messy relationship with Amber. H/W


Matzah

Matzah

Characters: House, Wilson

Rating: PG13 for drinking and sexual references

Disclaimer: I don't own House.

Warnings: Spoilers for ep. 4x13

Summary: House comes across Wilson as he's preparing himself a matzah snack, launching the duo into a conversation concerning not only Passover, but Wilson's equally messy relationship with Amber.

A/N: This is a little anachronistic since Passover was two weeks ago, and this story takes place post-"No More Mr. Nice Guy". Alas, I hope it does not ruin this story's credibility.

--

The door to the doctor's lounge swung open, and Wilson heard the familiar padding of three thumping noises hitting the rug as an unwelcoming figure continued to walk towards him. Wilson allowed himself to steal a glance to confirm his worries, and his eyes flashed away from his food in order to observe House, dressed in his typical attire of jeans and a t-shirt, limping towards him with a fierce look in his eye.

Wilson felt his stomach flutter slightly as he quickly looked away, attempting to fix all of his concentration on the piece of matzah he was fiercely buttering. The unleavened bread snapped and crackled more loudly with every stroke, causing Wilson to sigh and roll his eyes as House stood at the opposite side of the table, observing Wilson's bizarre behavior. As Wilson's matzah became overwhelmingly covered in butter, Wilson forced himself to look up once again, this time meeting House's gaze. His stomach squirmed again as he recognized the anger in House's complexion. He blindly reached for the jar of strawberry jam as he kept his eyes fixed on House's, and to his surprise, he watched as House reached the jar first and handed it to his friend.

Wilson took the jar cautiously, squinting at his friend, waiting for him to break the nervous silence. He allowed himself to open the jar of jam and began to spread it across his butter-laden snack. The sound of the pathetic matzah was the only one to be had in the room.

"What's with the oversized cracker?" House spoke at last. Wilson could not help but sigh with slight relief – House wasn't going to bring up the entire "syphilis ordeal" yet...

"It's Passover, House," Wilson responded, sealing the jam back up as he picked up his plate of crumbled matzah.

"So?" House swiveled around to follow Wilson as he carried his food to the lounge area, where he sat down on the couch with a plop.

"So," Wilson stammered, attempting to explain, "we're not supposed to eat bread."

"So you eat crackers. Makes perfect sense."

"It's called matzah," Wilson said through the sound of splintering matzah, as jam and butter fell like confetti from Wilson's mouth onto his plate. He leaned forward reflexively to catch any stray crumbs he could. House could only look on in slight amusement at the mess Wilson was making.

"And yes, it makes perfect sense," Wilson defended himself. "It's symbolic – the oppression we faced—"

"'We?' Since when have you ever embraced your 'Jew-ness'?"

"Since I remembered I haven't celebrated Passover in years."

House turned his head sideways slightly, scrutinizing Wilson as he dabbed his jam-covered face with a napkin. "Who reminded you? The blonde-haired, blue-eyed demonic Catholic?"

"She's half Jewish," Wilson said, blinking slightly from House's attacks, "and yes, she did remind me. So what?" he shrugged.

"You're pathetic," House sighed, throwing himself onto the couch next to Wilson.

"What'd I do?" Wilson said, attempting to convey innocence in his tone.

"You turned yourself into a spineless idiot. Everything you've done this past week," he threw an angry glance at Wilson, causing Wilson's eyes to widen in slight fear for a moment, "is because you're busy covering your own ass. And you're enjoying it," House said, emphasizing the last three words of his speech.

Wilson shrugged indifferently, "I figured that this is something you two need to work out yourselves. What am I supposed to do?"

"I think what's more relevant is if we talk about what you're _not _supposed to do; like stab your best friend in the back," House spoke with sheer ferocity in his voice. Wilson's eyes widened even further as he turned slightly pale.

"Well, it's like you just said," Wilson finally responded, "I'm enjoying this."

"That doesn't mean you have the right to go and make things worse," House snapped.

"She ruined everything all because you had the nerve to go against our promise and ruin my plan."

"I – I didn't think she'd tell your team."

"Don't try to excuse yourself."

"I'm not, I – I'm just telling you what I think. Is that such a big deal?"

"Yes. And only because it's not what you think, it's what Amber thinks. She thinks you should eat crackers for a week, so you stuff your face. She thinks you should go against a direct promise with me so you go and blab."

"If you want to know the truth, I blabbed because I thought it was hilarious."

"Flattery won't work."

"It's not flattery, it's my fat mouth if you want to blame some part of me for this."

"I'm blaming every part of you for this."

Wilson felt stung. "House, look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it was such a big deal. It's not like the time you faked cancer for the trip. _That _was harmful. Your team was beside themselves. Cuddy was furious. I was... upset."

"Then you should be thanking me that I let you in on it this time. Don't expect this special treatment next time."

"House, there shouldn't even be a next time!" Wilson argued.

House feigned an excited gasp. "That's exactly what I was going to say! Why did you tell her?"

Wilson hesitated, his empty plate resting in his lap. "It... was an accident. It just sort of.. came out." House stared at his friend in complete disbelief.

"Drunk, or having sex?"

"Why do you always assume it's either from those two events?" Wilson demanded uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck.

"Because, as we both learned a few nights ago, you can be a drunken idiot."

"I was drunk, okay. Happy?"

"No. Why were you drinking?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"If you hadn't gotten drunk, I wouldn't be here yelling at you about your stupid matzah and lack of backbone! I'll say it matters!"

"It's... sorta personal," Wilson attempted to escape answering through his most commonly used escape route.

"Why were you drunk?"

"It's personal!"

"Meaning...?"

"I don't want to tell you!"

"You seriously think that's going to stop me? I need to know."

"House, please—" Wilson's voice had an edge of worry, and it seemed almost pleading.

"How can I trust you with my secrets if you're just going to spill them all in one drink?"

"Since when have 'secrets' and – dare I say it – 'trust' ever been a key concept in our relationship?"

"Since they've been ruining my games. But you're avoiding the question: why are you doing this? You let me get you drunk the other night, and now you're doing it to yourself. Unless Amber has some alcoholic kink, I highly doubt she wants her angelic Wilson drunk."

Wilson bit his lip, staring fixedly at the pile of matzah crumbs scattered everywhere. He took a deep breath as he finally spoke, and the words slowly spilled out of his mouth simply because he knew he was going to have to speak these fateful words eventually.

"I don't want... this... with Amber," he began. "She's pretty, she's conniving, she's... everything you've analyzed her to be. But she's never been my type entirely."

"So now you're a spineless coward? Too scared to become number one on CB's hit list?"

"I'm not afraid of her. I respect her. But... she's not who I want to be with romantically." Wilson hoped that his speech would be vague enough for House's satisfaction, yet lacking in any real content which House could analyze layer by layer, eventually leaving Wilson entirely stripped of his dignity. Yet, Wilson knew he would have to continue, and he could almost see the gears in House's head reeling as they proceeded multiple ideas in one instant.

"But you're the one who asked her out... which means that you did this for a reason. If it wasn't to sleep with her, or," House hesitated, "be in a relationship with her, then you did this for someone else..."

Wilson sighed as he felt House's eyes on him, x-raying him with fervor, causing him to gaze upwards at the ceiling. He waited with baited breath for House to finish his thoughts out loud, pausing as the air hung over the two of them in a moment before the chaos. When House continued to be silent, Wilson looked over at his friend, expecting him to have turned away and be gazing dazed at the floor. Instead, he found House's blue eyes still determinedly scanning his own face, which resulted in their eyes locking in a moment of awkward, simultaneous comprehension.

"You did this for me." Wilson knew this was not a question, but rather a fact stated out loud.

"And it worked," he finally responded in hesitant, yet dismissive voice.

"'Worked'?" House demanded.

"You knew Amber was never my type," Wilson began to explain, "and you worked relentlessly to prove it to yourself that I wasn't really in love with her. You've been fighting over me for the past few weeks. I'm not an idiot, House; and I've learned a few things from Amber about how to get what I want."

"Ironically, through the exact opposite behavior," House muttered, more to himself than to Wilson. Wilson performed a double blink, his eyebrows furrowing at House's statement.

"Wait, wait, wait, you're willing to accept the idea that I've done all of this for you?"

"It was obvious from the beginning. You've always needed a backbone, but--" House paused as everything finally clicked into place. It was as though the last piece of the puzzle had been placed down.

"You manipulative bastard," House then spoke again.

"What?" The corners of Wilson's mouth twitched slightly.

"You knew I would do all of this. You knew I would obsess over all of this, and you wanted me to! You knew I would run you into the ground about everything."

"Like I said, it worked," Wilson said, smirking slightly, and he witnessed the amazing sight of House's gleaming teeth appear from behind his lips in the form of a bewildered smile. "There's more than one way to be manipulative," Wilson continued to reason, "not everyone can be a total jerk."

"You can," House snapped, "you still told Amber about my plan."

"House, I'm in the middle of admitting that I have been trying to get your attention for several months – years, actually – and you're trying to attack my for my loud mouth?"

"I figured we should talk about something that I _didn't _know about."

Wilson gaped. "Well," he hesitated, slowly rising from his seat on the couch to throw his plate away, "it's all connected. I drank to escape, and in my stupidity I blabbed. Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"No," House said firmly, rising from his seat to follow Wilson into the kitchenette area.

"House!"

"How can I trust that you're not going to tell Amber that she was being used?"

"Because that's my secret, not yours," Wilson countered.

"It's mine now," House snapped, "seeing as we're about to kiss and all," House added ominously as a throwaway comment.

"We're about to—wha--?" Wilson's stammering was quickly smothered by a quick connection between House's lips and his own, and Wilson felt his body fleetingly relax as his entire, unseeingly manipulative plan came full circle. Yet, the moment of wholeness quickly dissolved as House's lips departed from his own, leaving him with an echoing feeling of warmth and comfort alongside lingering bewilderment.

"That was what you wanted, wasn't it?" House mocked Wilson, giving him a smug smile as he slowly backed away, heading towards the door. Wilson could only stand dumbstruck as he continued to gaze at House.

"Wanna go miniature golfing?" House finally asked as his hand was at the door.

"Sure," Wilson shrugged without hesitance, "we both seem to be in the mood for competition lately."

"As long as it's not for your attention," House gave Wilson a sideways smirk as he welcomed him to walk through the door and down the hall of Princeton Plainsboro, leaving a half-empty box of matzah to stand idly on the countertop.


End file.
